


From the mouth of babes

by Queenofthebees



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-15 02:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16053410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofthebees/pseuds/Queenofthebees
Summary: "Oh," Rickon said, frowning slightly before he gave a bright smile. "So you and Jon can make a babe?"Jon's laughter died suddenly, replaced with a sound similar to a yelping dog, his wide eyes finding hers."Well no," Sansa stated softly."But you two love each other."





	From the mouth of babes

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little thing that came into my head watching Stark gifsets

It had seemed just another usual day in Winterfell when Davos rode through the gates with a young boy clinging to his waist, claiming to have returned Rickon Stark to his rightful home and family. If it hadn’t been for Shaggydog prowling protectively around the horse, Sansa would have told the man that Rickon Stark was long dead, along with the rest of the Starks.

All but she and Jon.

The girl who she had called sister was long dead, the woman in her place still across the narrow sea, training to kill. Sansa had long accepted that she and Jon were all that would ever be left of Winterfell and their generation of Starks.

Rickon was staring at her with a furrowed brow as she stepped close to him. She held out her hand timidly, as though approaching a wild beast. Although, From what she remembered of her youngest brother, she may not have been far off.

“You’re not mother,” he whispered, accusation lacing his tone, as though he thought she had meant to trick him in some way.

“No sweetling,” Sansa replied gently. “It’s me, Sansa, your sister.”

He was silent for a long moment, glancing up at the battlements and then across the courtyard. “Where is Bran?”

“He…he’s far away.”

That was true in a way at least _._ Bran was buried in the far north, where The Wall once stood and he had fallen in the last battle as he brought the night king and the un-dead dragon down.

But he had been dead long before then she thought sadly, remembering how little he seemed to react to seeing Jon and herself alive and well, taking back Winterfell.

“Come inside darling,” Sansa said gently as Davos lifted her brother from the horse. “Jon will be so happy to see you.”

Rickon seemed to perk up then and, as Sansa held out her hand, he hesitantly slipped his into her palm.

***

It took several days but eventually, Rickon started to talk of his own will, rather than merely answering others. And although he tended to only do so at the dinner table, it was progress, in Sansa's eyes.

One evening, he asked where babes came from after hearing that the stable hound had given birth, making Jon choke on his drink and Sansa to smile sheepishly.

"Well, I suppose when a man and woman are..um...interested," Sansa started but Rickon interrupted.

"Don't they need to love each other too?"

Jon chuckled, shrugging playfully when Sansa shot him an exasperated look.

"It helps," Sansa responded tightly.

"And wed?"

Sansa shot Jon a horrified look. "They don't need to be wed to make a babe. Love is enough."

"Oh," Rickon said, frowning slightly before he gave a bright smile. "So you and Jon can make a babe?"

Jon's laughter died suddenly, replaced with a sound similar to a yelping dog, his wide eyes finding hers.

"Well no," Sansa stated softly.

"But you two love each other."

"Yes, but-"

"You love each other like mother and father. Not like with Arya or Bran or...or..."

"Robb," Sansa reminded him gently. Rickon nodded, oblivious to the heartache surrounding the room.

"Time for bed wolf cub," Jon declared, effortlessly lifting Rickon by the waist and resting him against his chest.

He paused at the door, a strange look on his face as he looked back at her. And she stared back, the silence stretching on.

"Goodnight Sansa," he murmured eventually before leaving her alone.

***

"Jon. Why don't you tell Sansa that she's pretty?" Rickon asked suddenly at dinner a few evenings later.

"What?" Jon blurted, his spoon halfway to his mouth. Sansa blinked in surprise.

"Father told mother that she was pretty all the time."

"We've discussed this darling. Jon and I are not father and mother Rickon," Sansa explained gently just as Jon murmured,

"You look pretty, Sansa."

Sansa blushed, her eyes lowering to her lap.

Rickon frowned into his bowl. "You're not married yet?"

"No sweetling. As I said, we are not..."

"You should be!" Rickon interrupted with all knowing, seven year old confidence.

"It isn't that easy," Sansa said gently.

"Why not?"

Sansa jerked at the sound of Jon's voice, her lips parting in surprise. Rickon nodded eagerly turning back to her.

"Why not?" he repeated eagerly. Sansa shook her head to compose herself, her attention now entirely on Jon.

"You _want_ to marry me?"

Rickon spoke before Jon could. "Of course he does! I told you, he loves you!"

"Rickon," Jon warned softly, rubbing his beard sheepishly as he glanced back at her. "Aye. If...if it pleases you."

Sansa bit her lip, stifling the smile that threatened to grow. "For the North?"

Jon shook his head, fingers tracing the back of her hand. "For love."

This time, Sansa's smile was radiant as she squeezed his hand and gave a soft nod.

"Now you kiss her!" Rickon reminded him.


End file.
